Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine .Otherwise, yeah, I own it. This chapter's soundtrack: You Make Me Real by Brandt Brauer Frick; Force Majeure and Encore by Tangerine Dream; Pompeii by Triumvirat. Those clever Germans!
The semi headed into Middleton in the early morning hours, turned at Science Lane and Tech Avenue, heading for the Space Center. Back in the trailer, the man in black took out a phone, made a call.
"It is two-forty a.m. Are you ready?"
His peculiar visage grew ever darker with every word of the response, whatever it might have been.
"Stop. No one outside of Bedlam talks like that. Stop. You speak, the other one listens. You're on the phone! All I'm getting is every other word!"
A pause.
"I'm not going to guess which one I'm talking to. You probably aren't sure yourselves. I say, it's two-forty-three a.m. Are you ready? Do you have a plan, a design in mind?"
He listened, nodded.
"Excellent. No, I don't want all the details. Here is what I want, the next step in the plan: when Shego shows up, and she will, use the gas on her. Not the laser, not the disruptor. The gas. Do you understand? You like the gas, you invented the gas, so use it. Here's your chance."
The truck hit a bump in the road. So did the plan.
"You're out of Zodiac Gas? That's impossible. The tanks were full… No, I haven't been watching the news. I've had this foolproof diabolical scheme to suss out, you know. Criminal masterminds don't get a lot of free time. Comes with the territory."
There was another, longer pause; his assistants grew concerned. He tended to take his frustrations out on them.
"You used it all up? You were supposed to lay low until now! … Fun, yes, of course, lotsa fun. I'm sure it's just been far-freakin'-hilarious. Listen to me. If you mess this up – Listen. There's a padded cell with your names on it at the Super-Villain Asylum. If you want to stay out of it and keep having fun, you'll find some way to bring me Shego. Some method that doesn't involve bumping her off, or breaking every bone in her body, or any of the other cheery amusements you clowns enjoy. I want her in one piece. Understand? Tell me you understand."
The answer seemed to calm him down a degree or two; the henchmen collectively sighed in relief.
"When she's down, call me and I'll tell you what to do from there… The Stoppables? Yes, I knew they were involved. I have connexions."
He listened a moment, and spoke two words.
"Finish them."
Dr. James Possible had no idea that his daughter and son-in-law had been recruited for a secret mission, of course. He didn't know that his granddaughter was with the other set of grandparents. He had heard nothing about the wave of super-vandalism in Upperton. He didn't realize it was almost three o'clock in the morning.
His infamously one-track mind was focused completely on a single thing: the sleek spacecraft he was fine-tuning, alone in the Middleton Space Center.
The Copernicus was the next generation of manned space exploration: once its antigravity accelerators reached full charge, it could outrace the Kepler series without any sign of the dangerous phlogiston resonance that made the Kepler's quantum drive unsafe in the atmosphere. The Copernicus would be capable, at full speed, of circling the globe in under a minute, at any altitude, without even a sonic boom to mark its passage. Possible was making the final adjustments to it, wanting it at its absolute peak when it lifted off on its maiden voyage at noon tomorrow.
He backed out of the ship, sealed the access panel, looked at the clock for the first time in hours and realized it would be noon today.
"Three a.m! Anne's going to kill me!"
A voice came from behind him, an evilly nasal sound: "I wouldn't worry about that, Dr. Possible. You've got more immediate problems."
"What th-" He spun around and stood aghast. Not because of the pistol his unwelcome visitor had trained on him. He'd been held at gunpoint before. "Great golden gooseberries, that nose!"
If the man in black was offended, he gave no sign. Quite the opposite. "Ah, you recognize your own shortcomings in the face, so to speak, of true greatness."
"Uh, come again?"
"The nose is the noblest organ in the human anatomy, sir." The gun never wavered. "What would life be without the sense of smell?"
"That's actually due to the olfactory lobe –"
"I know all about that, thank you. Ever been a hostage before?"
"I've been held hostage by villains that would put you to shame."
"Never mind that. Start walking. We're going to the control center of this bay."
"Who are you? How'd you get past the security system? High-voltage stun rays –"
"The whole world will know who I am soon enough." It was one of his favorite lines; just the right degree of mystery and menace. Sometimes he practiced it in front of the mirror. Very shortly he would be able to retire it. "My advent, so to speak, was prearranged. You may not believe this, but there are people working here who can be bought."
"At the Space Center? Stuff and nonsense. Scientists are above all that."
"I didn't buy a scientist."
"Oh, well, of course there's some criminal element in the plebeian sector –"
"I don't like the tone of your voice."
"Once my daughter finds out what's going on, you'll have a lot less to like."
"She and her monkey-powered hubby will be busy elsewhere tonight. Along with their erstwhile replacements, the Lipskys. That, too, has been prearranged. Nothing has been left to chance."
If the man in black expected Dr. Possible to be frightened, he was disappointed. "You might as well surrender now, pal. It'll save on wear and tear later. Together they defeated the whole Lorwar –"
"The Lorwardian attack force, yes, yes, I know. The story grows tedious through constant repetition."
The sign on the door read
ROCKET REPAIR BAY #9
SECURITY OFFICE
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
The man in black produced a magnetic key, opened the door. It had cost him quite a bit of money. It didn't matter; when the plan was fulfilled, he wouldn't miss it. He sat down at the control desk, still covering MrDrP with the gun.
"And it wouldn't matter if the whole 101st Airborne Division was on my heels, pal. There is no surrender in my future." He surveyed the panel before him, turned a knob. The massive doors on both sides of the bay rolled slowly upward; a semi pulled in, disgorging henchmen. They began fastening tractor cables to the Copernicus.
The mystery madman continued to gloat.
"You see, I have sniffed out every eventuality. There is absolutely nothing that can clog up my scheme. While I am engaged in removing this craft from the premises, my operatives will be unfurling the other half of the plan many miles from –"
With a deafening crash, a gigantic amphibious troop carrier smashed its way through the far wall, losing pieces of itself in the process. The henchmen froze, unsure of what to do. Even the man in black was surprised. Not surprised enough to drop his gun, though.
The carrier's hatch swiveled, popped open.
"Gee," said Phobos and Deimos, "that was scary. We weren't sure we could do that. It's not a tank, but it's the closest thing Hench had to one."
"We don't think he ever had a tank."
"He's a liar."
"Killjoy."
They laughed together at some secret joke.
The evil mastermind slammed his fist on a button, picked up a microphone. His voice, almost a despairing whine, filled the repair bay. "Why are you here?"
The twins looked around for the source of the voice, didn't find it, shrugged in unison. "Didn't you say 'Middleton Space Center, three a.m?' It's three a.m. And we're here. Right on schedule." They smiled beatifically at the Copernicus, emitted an Oooo of awe. "Is that a spaceship? Can we ride in it?"
"Phobos and Deimos? Those are your operatives?" MrDrP sounded almost amused. "Hard to find good help these days, isn't it?"
The man ignored him. "I said anywhere but the Middleton Space Center! Weren't you listening?"
"No," Deimos answered, not in the least apologetically, "not really."
Phobos was playing with her hair, coiling it around her finger. "You were going on. It was boring. By the way, Shego and the Stoppables are right behind us."
"Just f-"
There was the shriek of a jet overhead .
"-y-"
The Sloth glided in at one end of the bay; a green aircraft descended at the other end.
"-i."
"Stop doing that!" the man in black bellowed. "Do something about our enemies. And remember what I told you. One piece. Unhurt."
With surprising acrobatic skill, the twins leaped into action.
The man's orders reverberated through the giant building. "Get the spaceship into the trailer. Now." His scheme was in danger of falling apart, right in front of his nose. "Two of you get up here, take the hostage to the truck." He switched off the mike, turned to Dr. Possible. "This is what I get for recruiting lunatics."
"Is this the bit," asked the scientist, "where you reveal your malevolent plot?"
"That'll have to wait until we get to the lair," said the villain, shoving the astrophysicist into the arms of his burly minions. "I've got a world to dominate." Locking the door behind them, he returned to the chair. Below them, men on mini-tractors were desperately trying to get the Copernicus into the semi before the storm broke.
Without warning Phobos' cyberlaser flared as the criminal crew scattered for cover; she rocked her head back and forth, cutting through the Sloth at a dozen different angles. A second later the beam found the little vehicle's fuel tank; there was an explosion that scattered smoldering debris across the bay.
The cyborg looked up, a satisfied smile on her boyish face, and gave the thumbs-up sign.
Restrained by the master villain's underlings, James Possible could only cry out his daughter's name, over and over, in horror and dismay. They joined the stolen Copernicus in the trailer; the doors closed, the truck hurtled from the scene of destruction.
So MrDrP didn't see his daughter come swinging down from overhead, kicking the surprised twin across the bay. "That's why we've got remote controls," snarled Kim, without a moment's pause in her attack. "You'll pay for the damage." Another kick, another punch, never giving her adversary time to use her weapon. In under a minute she had pinned the cyborg girl down, forcefully shoving her head to one side, preventing a direct shot from her laser eye. The beam lashed out again and again, doing nothing but cutting holes in the floor and wall.
"What is going on?"
Phobos, twisting in Kim's strong grip, desperate to escape, gibbered in a strange, halting fashion, making no sense at all to the crimefighter: "You – do – to – My – will –your – to – "
"Pieces!" shrieked Deimos from behind them, bringing a huge wrench down on Kim's head. They'd been too close together to use her subsonic disruptor.
The wrench worked just as well.
An instant later a bolt of green plasma caught the twin in the back, sending her flying across the room. Phobos shoved Kim's prostrate body to one side, stood up, laser flaring. Shego spun, jumped, dodging the beam, coming down behind the twin, smashing her to the ground with a volley of punches.
No need to keep using the plasma, she thought. I might need it later. The gloves only have so much. And these idiots are pretty easy to beat; knock one unconscious and you're done. Buy one, get one free.
The cyborg twisted away from her, growled like an animal, turned to blast her tormentor out of existence. Deimos' disruptor antenna swiveled toward the figure in green and black, who stood like a guardian angel over the fallen redhaired woman.
"You're mean," the twins screamed in unison. "We hate you!"
"No! No!" roared the amplified voice, shaking the bay with its volume. "Don't hurt her! I need her! Get out of the way! " The twins glanced at each other, somersaulted toward the exits.
In the control room, an evil hand reached out toward a switch, to be stayed by a crash as the locked door came off its hinges, went flying down the hallway. The blue light of Mystical Monkey Power illuminated the room.
"Whoever you are, whatever you're doing," Ron commanded, "stop."
The man in black spun in his chair, brought up the pistol. Ron had the ability to dodge the shot. Or catch it. Material weapons were nothing to a master of Mystical Monkey Power.
But he was still human. Still subject to emotions. To surprise. Shock. Even nausea.
He felt all those things looking at the terrible, malformed face of his unknown enemy. And hesitated. Just a moment.
There was a silenced hiss from the gun. Ron staggered back, fell to the floor, his aura reduced to meager flickerings. Without a second glance, his adversary turned back to the control panel, switched the security system on.
High-voltage stun rays, Dr. P. had said.
A minute later he switched off the system, stepped over the half-conscious, weakly groaning body in the doorway, strode down to the bay. The situation was well in hand. Despite his flunkies.
The twins were waiting for him, standing over the unconscious forms of Kim and Shego, furious, raving. "Cut them into chunks."
"Shatter their bones like glass."
"Strangle them."
"Shoot them."
"Bullies. Brutal. Out of control."
"No fun."
"No fun at all."
The man in black took charge. "Get Shego. We'll take the jet."
Immediately the twins forgot their rage. "Can we fly it?"
"We've never flown a jet before."
"No. I'll fly it. I want to get to the lair in one piece." He stroked Shego's hair. "Very soon, we will own the world. Then you can crash as many jets as you want."
A few minutes later the VTOL lifted off. Kim and Ron lay motionless, silent, in the empty building.
Many miles away, Cinnabar's grandparents were awakened by the little girl, standing at their bedside, crying. She'd had another bad dream.
This one was about her parents.